


Growing Pains

by Lydia_Martin_trash



Series: Howl [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Laura Hale, Discussion of Rape, Gen, Laura Hale Lives, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: In the aftermath of the fire that killed most of her pack, Laura tries to live up to the mantle of Alpha.





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my plans for a loooooooooong time and the Laura Hale Appreciation Week gave me the push I needed to finish it! So thank you for clotpolesonly for organizing it, and to Dani for beta reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time Cora falls asleep out of pure exhaustion in their shitty motel room, still covered in dirty and leaves, it's almost the next day. Derek is not sleeping at all; he shows no sign of even considering it. Laura puts him on babysitting duty while she goes out, leaving the keys to her Camaro in his cold hands.

She could take a taxi or the bus, she could rent something more inconspicuous or steal Mr. Norton's bike, but Mom is always harping on about both, how they should be more discrete and not wasting money on short trips they could make by foot. In the end, she doesn't trust she won't take the highway and leave her problems behind, so she runs.

Two feet and then on all fours. What a blessing running is. It disperses some of her excess energy. When she makes it to the front door of Beacon Memorial, she almost feels in control again. She's wearing the clothes Deputy Stilinski got for Derek, to hide the way she has bulked up overnight. It doesn't make her feel any less like a stranger in her own body, but at least the nurse on the reception desk doesn't bat an eye at the size of her arms, though she smells unhappy, probably at the layer of dirt on Laura. She approaches the desk all the same.

“I'm Laura Hale,” she says. The woman's eyes immediately widen in recognition, but she puts a professional blank face on. Laura is almost thankful. “I'm here for my uncle, Peter Hale.”

“Miss Hale, your uncle is about to be put into an induced coma, his condition...”

She growls in the back of her throat. The nurse stops talking at once, but Laura isn't paying her any mind. She closes her eyes because she knows they're deep red, and thinks  _alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ until she doesn't feel her gums itching to drop her fangs anymore.

“His doctor,” she demands. The woman scrambles to get someone else to deal with her and isn't that something. A week ago, she couldn't even stop Camden Lahey from cutting right before her in the movie line. Now everybody treats her like they treat Mom.

Laura sits on a chair close to the desk and waits and prays Mom will show up and deal with everything before the doctor gets there; and Laura will just stay to her right, looking disinterested but cataloging every bleep in the heartbeats around them. But the doctor – a short, unassuming man with more grey than brown in his hair – turns the corner and walks straight to her.

“Miss Hale,” he greets. She stands up, and for all the extra muscle she has now, they are the same height. It irks her. “I'm Doctor Fenris, I'm in charge of your uncle's treatment.”

He offers his hand. It's all she can do to not beat it away. She settles for ignoring it.

“Why are you putting my uncle in a coma?” she yells. “Shouldn't this be discussed with his family first?”

“We tried to reach you, Miss Hale, but we couldn't get a hold of you directly, so we discussed this with Mrs. Hale's representative.” Fenris says. His tone is calm, but Laura can hear his heart thundering in his chest. His veiled criticism as well,  _where were you?_ “I maintain that an induced coma is the best course of action right now. If you prefer, we can discuss the situation in detail, but the sooner Mr. Hale goes under, the better his chances are. If you would authorize it...”

“I don't,” she cuts him off. “I want to see him.”

Fenris blinks at her, shocked out of words.

“He's... he's, he's delirious, Miss Hale.” He smells incredulous, either at her callousness or her ignorance. “He's in too much pain to talk any sense right now. His burns are bone deep. He might die if we don't act soon. The risk of going into shock...”

Tears start clouding her vision. Laura press the heel of her hands to her closed eyelids, hard, hoping the world will fade away for just a minute. But Fenris just goes on and on, saying he understands how this is hard, that this is an emotional moment, but please consider the possibility of infection, and her uncle Peter, who taught her how to swim in the lake and helped her dress to prom and once buried her hairdryer in the yard, might  _die_ . Like everybody else.

“I'm going to see him,” she says, balling her hands in fists and dropping them to her sides. Clinging to whatever fight she has left in her.

Fenris sighs, frustrated, but before he can open his mouth to explain again how hurt Peter is, Laura glances around the empty reception area, drags him by the arm to a spot out of range of the security camera and presses him to the wall by the throat, just a hint of claws on her fingers. Just enough to prickle his skin. She shakes him a little, for good measure, and raises him from the floor a bit too, to really get her point across.

“I'm going to see him. Now.”

* * *

The nurses talk her into washing her arms and face and wearing paper clothes over her own. And a headband. Gloves and a mask as well. Only then they let her into Peter's room in the Intensive Care Ward, whispering among themselves what a tragedy it is.

Not one of them think he's gonna survive. Not even Laura, when she enters the room right behind a tall, muscular nurse. There's a man lying on the bed hooked on various tubes and machines, an oxygen mask on his face, his burnt side turned to the door, gauze and bandages barely hiding the pink swollen flesh and the blisters. The air smells like pus and pain. She can't even smell the man under all these cloying scents, she can only hear his faint crying, hoarse like he's been at it for hours. It's the kind of sound Peter would never make.

“This is not him. Take me to the right room!” Laura screams at the nurse or tries to. Her voice fails her in the middle of the sentence and goes high until it's no more than a shriek. Her vision is getting watery again.

“There is no mistake, Miss Hale.” The nurse says gently. He tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but she jumps away, closing her eyes as they turn red.

She leans on the nearest wall, hears only faintly the heartbeat on the bed speeding, the nurse rushing forward to try and calm it.  _Alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ . She tries to breath a lungful of air to ground herself, but the scent of pain is like acid on her nose.  _Alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ ,  _alpha-beta-omega_ . Her claws cut into her palms when she curls her hands in fists and the blood is warm and welcome, she should get more of it, but not hers, no, oh no, she should hunt, she is a wolf and the world her prey, she is meant to  _run–_

“Laura.” The man in the bed is crying still, trying to sit up even as the nurse keeps him lying down. Her name sound like a prayer on his charred lips. “Laura. Laura. Laura.”

At once her eyes are brown again and she is crying for real too. She's not a wolf, but a sister, a niece, an alpha, and she's lost. Her pack is in ashes. From the bed, Peter begs her, his uncovered eye blue and delirious, but she can't be his lifeline, or Derek's or Cora's.

The only thing she can do is walk up to her uncle's bed and hold him to her chest, so she does. But God, it takes such effort.

She pulls the paper mask down and takes his pain away where they touch. Her cheek on his forehead, her chin on the bridge of his nose. In truth, there is so much of it the pain irradiates from Peter's skin and clings to hers. The process is invisible and automatic, not even a single vein blackening to ease the transition, and Laura knows Mom will be livid. When she takes one of her gloves off and grabs his arm, the nurse tries to protest, but Laura tells him to go away with such viciousness he leaves them alone.

“Don't leave me,” Peter whispers when she has taken enough that he is lucid at least. “Please, don't leave me.”

“I won't,” Laura whispers back. Without his pain stinking the air, she can smell him a little, achingly familiar. “I promise I won't. Try to rest now.” She flashes her red eyes at him, willing him into obedience.

“Alpha,” he says, ignoring her words and her eyes just like Derek did. He brushes the oxygen mask on her neck, a facsimile of wet lips and sharp teeth brushing her neck. “Please, don't go. He said... he said you skipped town.”

“We didn't. We're just laying low,” Laura says, ears burning. Her first instinct  _had_ been to run, to grab her car and go back to college, to a part of her life that wasn't destroyed. She'd have dropped everything, even what was left of her family. But with Derek clinging to her arm and Cora to her back, she'd had to slow down and think. In the end, she'd just followed Deputy Stilinski's advice and stayed in a motel one town over under fake names. “I'm sorry I couldn't come before.”

“You're here now. Cora?” He asks, a hint of desperation in his voice. Without the agony clouding his mind, Laura can see him remembering. “Is she alive? Is anyone else?”

“Just you, Cora, and Derek. And me.” Laura sobs into the ruin of her uncle's hair. “They're unharmed. I told Derek to run with Cora if anything happens while I'm here... I'm not sure he will, though. He's not all there right now.”

Derek hasn't said a word since the fire. He had left Laura to deal on her own with Cora – who didn't stop crying and clawing until passing out every day – and with the police, the lawyers, the hospital, the press, and the insurance company. The only thing he could be trusted to do was hold Cora's hand and keep her in place after Laura put her there every single time she tried to run back to their house, after Laura had caught her and dragged her back kicking and screaming.

“Tell him it's not his fault,” Peter says, voice scratching her ears. His breath smells like smoke even behind the plastic, this close to her face. “Tell him. She was a hunter, that's what they do.”

Laura wishes she was surprised. Of course, it was hunters. Her pack wouldn't sit and wait for the fire to consume them if they had a way to get out, if they weren't trapped inside. If it wasn't through Derek, as Peter seems to think it was, it would be through someone else. They'd always find a way to get them.

“One of the deputies thinks it might have been arson. Stilinski,” Laura whispers even though it's just them in the room. “But just him.”

“He's right!” Peter cries, grabbing her arm with his burnt hand. It's clear he's putting all of his strength into the gesture, but his grip is so feeble Laura has no doubt even a human could shake him off. “I could smell them, Laura. They used mountain ash and blocked the tunnels. Talia begged them not to, to at least spare the humans, but they threw gasoline on us through the bars, they burned everyone, even Jamie...”

“Enough!” She growls a warning. Her little cousin Jamie will be six next summer and he is sweet and accident-prone. Everyone agrees he has little chance of being a werewolf. Cora thinks she's too big at ten to play with him, but Laura loves children and volunteers to babysit him more often than not. It hurts too much to hear it. She needs Peter to stop. “I already know. I was the one... I had to ID what was left.” She shrieks and sobs. She knows she's jostling her wounded uncle, but she can't stop shaking. “I can't hear another word about this today. I came to see you, to be with you. If you won't sleep, let's talk about something else.”

For a heartbeat, Peter is silent, as much as he can be with his wheezing breath. But Laura can smell his fury rising, distinctive and crimson even with the smell of medicine and pus.

“They murdered our pack. What else is even there to talk about?” He says that way he has, like he can't believe being in the presence of such a stupid creature. Laura almost smiles, having an answer for once, but she's unused to being on the receiving end of this tone and it makes her bristle.

“We could talk about you, for one” she replies, trying to go for authoritative. She's exhausted, terrified and her own body keeps betraying her. Maybe she should have more patience and sympathy for her hurt uncle, but she  _needs_ Peter to be an adult with her, to get better and help her. “The doctors want to put you in a coma.”

“No.” Peter doesn't even blink, frightened. “Laura, please.”

“You don't need to beg me, okay? Like hell I am going to make you do something like this.” She sniffs, offended he'd think that badly of her. She must be truly becoming Mom. “It's just... You know I can't take your pain all the time and you'll burn through anything they give you in minutes. They said you might die from shock.”

“I can take a little pain, niece,” he says derisively. Laura bites her tongue to keep from pointing out he was crying when she came in. “Maybe bribe someone into bringing me the good stuff.”

Laura actually smiles at that, though it's a sad, hidden thing.

“We'll figure something out. Just don't die on me.” She squeezes his uncovered arm, rubs her scent on his skin. She'd beg him, but Mom says it's unbecoming of an Alpha.

* * *

When he falls asleep, she finally let’s go, laying Peter on the bed as gently as she can. He whimpers, the full pain of his injuries starting to reach him again without her touch draining it away, but Laura hopes he can at least sleep a little more. Then, her limbs aching and tired, she sniffs Fenris out and lets him know in no uncertain terms Peter is not going to be put into a coma and she'll sue the hospital and him personally if someone tries to defy her on this.

She leaves through a side entrance, because the day is long past dawn. Laura is not ready to be found dead in a ditch, no matter how shitty her life is right now.

The urge to run is still strong. Her senses are heightened, as are her instincts. She avoids people in the street, because any accidental touch, any stare that lasts too long... she can't run, and that just makes the desire to fight harder to ignore. She had the advantage before, being only a regular beta, but now there's no doubt in her mind that she could tear apart anything that dares to cross her path.

She walks as slowly as she can to her destination, taking deep breaths to calm the queasiness in her stomach. Deaton's clinic is discrete, nearly non-descriptive. There's a feeling to it, like the air around it invites people out instead of in, suggests you come by some other time, that you're really looking for something next door.

Laura passes by it twice before she wises up. The rare occasions she had been there as a beta, it didn't feel so unwelcoming. Now that her eyes are red, it wants her to leave. Laura kills some time in the bakery in front of the building, drinks a coffee she barely tastes and bears the people staring openly at her until a mother and her son enter the clinic.

She goes in just after them, clinging to the illusion she's not alone.

Deaton is at the counter talking to the little boy, explaining dogs can't eat some foods even if they make puppy eyes at you. He doesn't turn to Laura at once nor do his words falter, but his heartbeat speeds for a second. The faintest hint of surprise reaches her nostrils, but it's gone as soon as her next breath.

“Excuse me,” Laura cuts them off. The mother turns to her with an indignant expression but seems to think better of it when she takes a better look at Laura, wearing men clothes and dirty and running on fumes. “I need to speak with Dr. Deaton for a moment.”

To his credit, Deaton doesn't try to make Laura wait. He turns to his clients with an apologetic smile and promises he'll be quick.

He opens the mountain ash barrier and Laura steps in, heart racing with the suspicion she's falling in a trap. Only the knowledge of her lack of choices keep her pace steady and confident to the backroom.

Deaton is not like other people. He doesn't see Talia in her, nor does he bow to the force of her new raw power. He looks at Laura straight on, a blank face that betrays nothing but some minor displeasure.

“That was quite a rude display out there, Laura.” He says. There's a lot more left unsaid, all in the same disapproving vein. Laura wants to snarl at him, show her teeth. But she's her pack's alpha now; she has to be effective rather than impressive.

There's so much she wants to ask and more she needs to know, but she doesn't know how to ask, if it's worth trying at all. Deaton’s always been stingy with the answers. She doesn't know how to deal with him like this, without the barrier of Mom's authority between them.

But at the end of the day, there's only one answer she needs from Deaton.

“Why didn't you contact me before putting Peter under?” She asks, eyes going red with anger.

Deaton falters at that, she can see. Maybe he didn't expect her to take the direct approach. He takes some time mulling an answer, clearly wondering what he can get away with hiding, but they both know he could have found her if he wanted. He had just assumed she'd run at once and left everything behind and had taken the chance to interfere with Peter's treatment.

For the worse, too. There's no doubt in Laura's mind that should he want to, Peter would already be healed.

“He was raving some very dangerous things when I went to visit him,” Deaton says in his usual calm voice. “I thought it'd be best to prevent him from making any regrettable decision for a while. And it would speed the healing process. It's a miracle he survived at all.”

Laura snorts bitterly at that.

“That's not what I asked.”

Deaton arches an eyebrow at that, feigning confusion. The sight has Laura's blood boiling, all thoughts of appearing calm and collected gone. She throws the steel exam table at Deaton's head with a flick of her wrist.

The table snaps in half centimeters before hitting him, splits into two in the air with each piece flying into opposite directions. Deaton is taking a step backward, suddenly winded by the effort to avoid the furniture. It takes him by surprise when Laura tackles him to the floor.

She holds him down by the throat, claws piercing tiny holes into the skin, and twists his hand until he has to let go of the powder he's holding. Wolfsbane, going by scent.

Laura laughs, triumphant, though the smell alone makes her lightheaded. The animals in the back of the clinic are going crazy and the mother and son at the front are talking, alarmed at the sudden crashing sounds. There's an invisible force trying to throw her off Deaton, enough to knock out a beta or a poor omega even as she restricts the air flow and watches him struggle, free hand scratching at her knuckles.

Her eyes shine redder than before as she leans down, teeth bared. This time she smells the tiniest hint of fear in the air.

“Answer my question,” she snarls into his face.

Deaton looks at her then, more defiant than scared. She lets him take a deep breath. She needs to hear him clearly.

“You're not my alpha,” he says. The pressure disappears for a moment, then releases at once and Laura goes flying to the other side of the room.

She gets up quickly, fast enough to slap another tin with powdered wolfsbane away when Deaton tries to throw it on her. It scatters in the air, but just a sniffle has Laura feeling weaker, eyes turning brown. She ducks Deaton's grasp again, kicks him away with enough force to make him double over.

They stay in opposite sides of the room, measuring each other. Deaton is on one knee, heaving breathless and some ribs probably broken, but he holds up admirably still. She pulls her T-shirt over her mouth and nose, like that can help at all, and swallows down bile when he starts speaking again.

“You're not what this town needs, Laura.” His voice is hoarse, and Laura would bet she did some real damage to his throat, but he goes on regardless. “I'm not sure the Hales are what this town needs anymore. You should have taken your chance.” He gets up and tries to take a step forward, hands up and open, but stops when she growls a warning. “You can still do it. It's not too late. Get the kids and get out. You have no idea what is coming.”

She wants to cry. That's what she would have liked to hear from the beginning. She'd have given so much to hear her Mom's trustworthy friend and emissary saying this. That she’s allowed to run, that it’s not her responsibility. Instead, she gets to hear this from the man who tried to put her uncle in a coma and was ready to poison her. How can she believe him?

Truth is, he is afraid of her. She could take him, even in this weakened state, or they wouldn't be talking at all. A part of her sings for blood, but...  _Alpha-beta-omega, alpha-beta-omega_ . She doesn't have to be a killer. Yet.

“Don't ever presume to meddle into my pack again,” she says. She can hear the mother calling someone in the front. Cops, she'll bet. “Leave Beacon Hills by the end of the week or I’ll be back to deal with you.”

Deaton stares at her, true shock in his face this time. The smell confirms it. She holds her head high, passes by him on the way out like she's not afraid he'll stab her back. Thankfully the counter is still open, the mountain ash barrier unlocked. She lets out a relieved breath when she crosses it.

Mother and son stare at her on the other side of the counter, huddled together. The little boy has an inhaler in his hand and there's naked fright in his round little face.

Laura loves kids, but she has nothing reassuring to say to this one. She doesn't even nod at them, offers no polite smile.

She leaves through the front door, head held high.

* * *

The next day at dawn all that's left of her old life is crammed into the Camaro, family members included. Cora is on the backseat, wrists and ankles tied, crying quietly only because she’s done crying loudly. Derek is driving. He hasn't got his license yet. He's barely sixteen, but Laura has taught him enough and he's somewhat more responsive after they talked yesterday.

He parks in the hospital parking lot, in a spot visible to the security cameras, like Laura instructs him to. She rubs their cheeks together and does the same to Cora, even though her little sister struggles all the way, to make sure they know they have her still.

She's their alpha. She belongs to them now.

“If anything suspicious happens, go. Don't turn back,” she orders. Derek nods, always an easy, obeying beta. He's more for keeping secrets than outright defiance, Laura has learned. She has to have faith in him, though, she has trust he will look after himself and after Cora if anything happens to her. “Keep the car running.”

Cora cries harder and begs her not to go, but Laura ignores her. She ignores everyone she passes in her way, walking at a brisk pace to Peter's room and scaring the living shit out of the people she can't avoid. The staff gives her a wide berth, even in the Intensive Care Ward.

The nurse from yesterday is there, leaning over Peter and whispering something in a reassuring, soothing voice. Peter doesn't smell calmed, though. He smells furious and in pain. Laura slams the door behind her, and the nurse jumps away, any notion of making excuses or looking innocent gone as soon as he looks at Laura.

“Who are you?” she asks. It's mere curiosity, at this point. She doesn't plan to stay here long enough for it to matter, but she needs to get into this new habit. Anyone who creeps on her family is going on her shit list, together with Camden Lahey.

“Lionel Brunski, Miss,” he says. “I was just–”

“I don't care,” she cuts him off. “Out.”

And she doesn't even need to put more authority on her tone or raise her voice. He rushes to obey and even closes the door she opens for him, like a sweetheart. She almost chuckles at that, but the smell of Peter's pain, his exhausted crying, pulls her back.

They're alone. She sits by his bedside and touches his hurt arm, grabs as much pain as she can. When she stops, panting from the exertion, he looks lucid and smells almost like himself again.

“Laura.” He tries to smile but has to stop when the movement pulls at the burnt side of his face. “You came back.”

“I did.” She smiles, gets up and rubs her cheek on his uninjured side. The gesture relaxes him, or maybe it's the fact he can smell Derek and Cora fresh off her skin. “I came back. And you're coming with me.”

It's a simple plan, because it's their only alternative. Once she told Derek she knows, it all came out, bleed out of him like an open wound. She mostly has all the facts now. The Argents raped her baby brother and murdered her family and Mom's emissary turned on them at some point. It’s a matter of time before other werewolves and supernatural beings, hunters looking to make a name for themselves, start circling, fighting for the carcass of the Hale pack. Reasons don't matter as far as Laura is concerned. Her instinct to run had been right. She's going to follow it and Beacon Hills can go fuck itself.

She starts unhooking Peter from the equipment. Thankfully he's not on breathing or feeding tubes. He doesn't understand what is happening, but he follows her lead and soon he's standing by her side, leaning on her as they go, slowly.

The minutes Laura gained from abducting Peter from the hospital instead of shaking Fenris until he signed him out will be for nothing if they keep this pace, so Laura just lifts Peter, bridal style. Fuck it if anyone is watching.

He blinks, startled, but then Laura puts a hand on his back, under his hospital gown, and starts to take away his pain. Clarity grows in his eyes even at Laura’s brisk pace.

“Where are we going?” he asks slowly.

And Laura really should be fucking paying attention, right? She knows Peter is not just her uncle, her friend and protector, she  _knows_ . But she is busy avoiding cameras, staff and patients, and she forgets.

“Laura,” he says again. The warning is impossible to miss this time. “Where?”

“Away,” she says, breath labored from the weight and the foreign pain entering her body. “Anywhere. Somewhere safe. We can start over.”

Just a few steps more, there is an emergency exit. She can smell the smell of fresh air from outside even though the door is closed. This counts as an emergency as far as she’s concerned. She hurries her pace, almost tasting the freedom, and is caught completely off-guard when Peter’s claws slip behind her neck and inside her spine, paralyzing her.

They hit the floor on their faces. Laura hears the crack of her nose breaking against the tiles and feels it healing wrong before she even registers the pain.

Her eyes turn red, but her vision is watery. Peter is tearing up too; she can smell the salt on him.

“What the fuck?!”

She yells, but it’s for nothing; she has done too good a job of skulking around in the hospital. Now she’s alone to watch her uncle drag himself to his elbows, his claws moving under her skin, the pain clouding his eyes until there’s barely anything of Peter there.

“We’re not going  _anywhere_ !” He spits, heaving. His body is half under hers, the burns rubbing against her coarse clothes, and he smells like agony as he struggles under her weight.

“This is our home! If we can’t make here safe, nowhere else will be. They’ll come after us! We’ll stay, and we’ll fight whoever tries to kick us out!”

When he drags his claws out, the smell of blood invades her senses and she wants to rip his throat open, that  _bastard_ who dared to question her. She’s the alpha! And can’t he see she’s scared and outclassed, they killed Mom, they killed everybody! They’ve already lost, and they’ll die if they stay! She goes as far as letting her claws and fangs drop, a warning growl rumbling inside her chest, but then she buries them knuckle deep on the floor.  _Alpha-beta-omega, alpha-beta-omega..._

Her pack. She belongs to them.

She watches him, eyes back to brown, as her uncle smudges a bloody trail from her nape to the hollow of her neck. When their gazes met, she thinks, then he’ll do it.

He doesn’t. He squeezes her throat, tips of his claws pricking at her skin, but he never pierces. Peter looks in her eyes and whatever lingers there makes him stop. He uses the last of his strength to throw her away.

Laura doesn’t move more than 20 inches. She sits up, rubbing the cheeks dry, and when she blinks back into the moment Peter has hunched into himself, sobbing. The smell of pain has overpowered the hints of anger and hate emanating off him.

“I used to do your pigtails for school,” he says when she drags herself to his side.

“I know, Peter. I know,” she sighs. “Not now, alright? I’m so tired.”

She staggers to her feet and cleans the blood with the inside of her T-shirt. She grabs him by the armpits this time, and then throws him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. A hand slips under his rumpled paper gown and she takes on some of his pain before wobbling outside.

Derek is not behind the wheel anymore, but on the backseat trying to calm Cora down. They fall silent when she approaches and watch with round eyes as she drops Peter on the passenger side, crying and whimpering.

“Your neck...” Derek narrows his eyes at Peter, suspicious.

“Just a scratch,” Laura says. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not.”

And it’s the truth. Peter and she know now how far they’re willing to go against each other. They’ve already lost too much to kill their own. They’ll have to make this work, somehow. There’s no other choice.

She has other things to worry about too.

“Where are we going?” Derek asks, voice trembling.

All eyes are on her. Cora’s, bloodshot and near feral; Derek’s, guilty and quiet; and Peter’s, lingering, calculating, judging and in so much pain she feels like crying. Her own eyes look so much older in the rearview mirror. She barely recognizes them with all the red.

“Home.”

She takes the road back to the preserve and to still smoking ruins.


End file.
